Transmutations of a Soul - Part 1
by OriginalCyn
Summary: This is a friend of mine's fic. She was too lazy to get her own account so I uploaded it under my name for her. A person sent by the Powers That Be to recruit soldiers of the darkness for the light. This is basically about Spike, but is a little B/S beca
1. Default Chapter Title

Title: Transmutations of a Soul (Part 1)  
  
Author's Note: This story takes place directly after Riley leaves and the Angel episode of   
"Reunion"—which is only relevant to the first part of the story. Thanks to Cyn,   
Tomorrow, SCG, and Ross8472 for getting me into the world of fan-fiction. This is my   
first fan-fic, so be nice . . . and review.  
  
Disclaimer: Simply put, they ain't mine, not the characters, not the shows, yada, yada,   
yada—alas, they never have been and never will be. They're that one guy's named Joss   
Whedon.  
  
"Get out," Angel said firmly, looking the dream-walker, vision, mirage, or   
whatever she was in the eyes with a slightly cocky lit to his voice and a ticked-off smirk   
on his lips. His eyes, those windows to the soul, held belligerence, annoyance, and deep   
down, a touch of angered betrayal. All this, the stranger read in a glance.  
"You have not yet heard my message," the stranger responded in a deep, accented   
voice. Even in all his travels, Angel could not give her melodic tones a land of origin.   
Her voice naturally calmed and Angel felt his curiosity stir for a moment; then he shook   
it off.  
"I don't care about you or your message," Angel said, condescension alive in his   
tones. "And I don't care for your invasion into my mind," he said, not caring about the   
anger he so readily expressed.  
The woman dipped her head to the side, peering at him, as if that would help her   
see him better. She straightened, nodding once as her glowing silvery-white hair spilled   
over her shoulder. Dark golden skin and violet-gold eyes probably bespoke demonic   
heritage. Angel quickly scanned his list of demons that could either dream-walk, project   
empathetically or telepathically—she didn't match any ones his mind conjured up. Angel   
could tell she was a fighter. The loose gray shirt, open vest and breeches, not pants, of   
charcoal gray, the sword hanging at her hip, the short boots with daggers tucked in—all   
showed her to be a fighter. Her regalia allowed freedom of movement without   
constriction, and even now she moved on the balls of her feet.  
"I know your anger and your violation," she said, her voice caring yet somehow   
unsympathetic. I wonder how she manages that, Angel asked rhetorically. She   
continued to speak in her melodic voice, "This is how it must be done, I can meet you no   
other way. Angel, you require my help."  
"Who are you?" Angel asked flatly, with nearly no real curiosity. He peered   
around the dreamland, which he could see no farther than ten feet in any direction.   
Colored mist swirled in droves around them and tiny breezes accompanied them. He   
would have enjoyed the sensation if it hadn't been for the company.  
"I am a servant," she replied, basically telling him nothing save she wasn't in   
charge.  
"Servant of who?" Angel asked. "Demon?"  
"No," she replied, "Neither am I one."  
This fact intrigued Angel. She didn't look or feel human, yet she wasn't a demon.   
She didn't seem alien enough to be from another dimension . . . . "Did The Powers That   
Be send you?"  
"No," she said. "They hold a certain dominion over this world, but I serve the   
One whom they serve."  
This was news to Angel, so The Powers That Be weren't exactly in charge of   
everything. "So what do you do, as a servant, I mean." For the first time, Angel's tone   
was something other than insulting.  
"I give wisdom," she said with a smile. "And light, I am a guide, a guard of a   
special group. We recruit warriors for the Light from the Darkness."  
"Then why are you here?" Angel asked, feeling his anger return.  
"Because you are in danger, Angel," she replied. "You have tread a narrow line,   
but are in danger of veering off into the darkness. I can be your guide."  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Angel said. Then he gave a derisive   
bark of laughter. "You're talking about the lawyers, aren't you?"  
"'And yet I just can't seem to care'," she quoted, suddenly spearing him with a   
gaze that made him flinch. "Ever heard of 'judge not', Angel? You weren't sent here to   
let the people you didn't like die. What if Miss Summers or Mr. Giles decided to let you   
die because of all the people you killed? What if they killed you for it? Would they be   
justified in that? In revenge?"  
His anger mounted as her words struck a cord in them. "Yes," he said darkly.   
"They would have been justified."  
The woman stared at him, disappointed. Finally she straightened, a note of anger   
touching her voice. "Then you have learned nothing, Angel, nothing of the chance you   
have been given. Vengeance is not yours!"  
Angel strode toward her, glaring at her, less than a foot away. She was four   
inches shorter than him, but she didn't seem to care. "Why not?" he asked, gesturing   
above. "You and those you serve aren't doing anything about it? When was the last time   
you did a damn thing?"  
Fire seemed to spew from her eyes. "You don't know the plan, Angel, why things   
happen. Darkness turns to light and light to darkness. You don't know what will happen.   
The last person I guided was Doyle."  
Angle felt stunned as he stared at her. "Doyle?" he asked, "So after you got him   
working for The Powers you just left? Well, swell job you did."  
Her fist lashed out and cracked hard against his cheekbone, knocking Angel back   
and to the 'ground' before he realized he had been hit. Dazed, he jumped to his feet,   
nearly losing his balance—that punch had been as hard as anything Buffy had ever dealt   
him when he was Angelus.  
"They all die," she said, her voice shaking with anger and controlled grief.   
"Every single one of them. For a hundred years I have turned countless to the light, and   
they have all died."   
For a split second, Angel was sorry. He realized the pain she probably had to deal   
with, as much probably as his own. But after all the meddling the PTB had done in his   
life, he wasn't ready for a spiritual warrior of light calling on his door, especially after   
what had happened.  
"Leave me alone," Angel said, but this time more gently.  
"Be gone," she said flatly. Angel felt an invisible hand slam into his torso,   
striking him down through the mist world and back to his slumber.  
  
¤¤¤  
  
Spike cowered under the tree below Buffy's bedroom. With a disgusted sigh he   
looked at his carton of cigarettes. "Bloody hell," he muttered. Only three left. That   
meant he only had time to smoke three before he went down to his miserable hole before   
dawn. Spike stared at the window, he couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, but   
he could just smell her. Pathetic, the voice whispered in his mind. Buffy jogged out the   
front door, heading off to patrol, not seeing or feeling Spike in the cover of the large tree.   
Spike slowly puffed away on the remaining cigarettes, threw them on the ground, then   
started off toward 'home'.  
Spike had barely got two feet before he noticed someone was following him. He   
picked up the pace, moving off into one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries. The amount of   
demons . . . no, vampires, following him had risen to four. Bloody hell! He thought   
again. Then again, they were probably day old, just-born-yesterday vamps too stupid to   
know that crosses burned, trying to get a reputation by finishing off Spike. Fat chance—  
he might have this bloody chip in his head, but he was still a fighter.  
Spike stiffened suddenly as he ducked between the trees. He saw Buffy in the   
clearing ahead, and he hesitated, watching the Slayer as she fought. Beautiful, he   
thought, letting a smile come unbidden across his face. She truly moved beautifully,   
better and more cunning than the two Slayers he had fought and killed. She moved with   
passion and emotion, the other Slayers had been trained by their Watchers to ignore or   
repress their emotions, not channel them. Fools.   
Spike lingered for a moment, then changed directions, surreptitiously moving off,   
away from the Slayer. No sense dragging her in with all this. Spike stopped in a small   
clearing, a large crypt behind him, and several gravestones scattered around. He   
carefully noted where they were as the vamps slipped out of the woods and into the   
clearing. Spike rolled his shoulders, loosening up a bit. He'd have a jolly fight before   
bed, and maybe get staked and put out of his misery.  
The thought nearly froze him as the first vampire attacked. Spike ducked out of   
the way, then dealt an uppercut to the ribs and another to the taller vamp's jaw. He   
kicked the vampire away with a sidekick and moved on to the next, whipping out his   
stake. As Spike fought mechanically, he pondered on the thought. Did he want to die?  
"Hell, yes," Spike said aloud as he slammed the stake through the heart of one of   
the vampires. A roundhouse, spin-hook kick combination threw another vamp to the   
ground. Seeing Buffy whenever he could was the only thing that kept him sane in this   
world. That, killing demons, and those little chicken wings.  
One vamp kicked the stake out of his hand and the remaining two grabbed him   
from behind. The idiot vampire approached him with the stake, grinning like a fool, and   
running his tongue over his canine fangs. As soon as the vamp was close enough, Spike   
jumped, kicking him back with both legs. The vamp flew backwards, and Spike was   
dealt two numbing blows by his compatriots, knocking him to his knees. They picked up   
Spike and dragged him up to a tree. Unfortunately, the idiots weren't interested in killing   
him, only torturing him to death—the sadistic . . . . Bloody hell, he had done the same   
friggin' thing to Angel.  
Spike couldn't help but scream as they drove a stake through his stomach, twisted   
it, then viscously ripped it back out. "Bloody hell!" Spike said as ribbons of agony   
stretched across his abdomen. He knew that the pain wasn't what a mortal would   
experience, blunted by the fact that he was dead, but it still nearly caused him to pass out.   
Spike lifted his head as the two stupider vamps pinned his arms to the tree, Spike's eyes   
came into focus as the other vampire approached, crowbar in hand. "Oh, no," he said   
softly.  
The vampire drove it through his heart, barely giving Spike the chance to again   
howl in agony. It went straight through his torso, pinning Spike securely to the tree. The   
vamps lopped rope around his wrists, the tied them together behind the tree—there was   
no way he could get out.   
After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the vampires left, yelling loudly   
and drunkenly. Spike wondered stupidly for a moment what they were doing. "Oh,   
crikie," he spluttered. "Come back!" he shouted weakly as yet more pain drove through   
him. They laughed even louder as dread settled on Spike. They wold leave him here, to   
be tortured by the sun in the early morning light, until he burst into flame and burned   
himself into cinders.  
Dazed and only half conscious, Spike realized the vampires were coming back.   
What the hell? He thought. Then he realized there were at least ten of them this time.   
They were all laughing and drinking, pointing at Spike and talking about subjects that   
were oddly familiar to Spike. It took him a moment to realize that all these vampires had   
either been his or Harmony's minions at one point, and were now getting their revenge.  
"What so funny?" came the loud challenge from the Slayer. Spike closed his   
eyes. He knew these idiots—they were strong, smart fighters, not even the Slayer could   
take on ten. He and Dru had trained most of them to actually fight the Slayer together,   
not going one on one.  
"Slayer," Spike said aloud weakly, before he realized what he was doing. She   
looked over to him in surprise, then her eyes widened in horror. Willow stood slightly   
behind her.  
"Oh my God," Buffy said, disgust and horror even on her face. She looked   
shocked, but then her face settled into her typical, sneering indifference of him. "You   
except me to help you?"  
"But we have to right?" Willow asked, she looked pitying. "I mean I know   
Spike's evil and all, but that's just . . . ."  
"Evil?" Buffy popped in.  
"No," Spike said, just loud enough for her to hear. "Get out of here, Slayer. You   
can't fight al of these." Spike had to close his eyes, focusing just to get the words out.   
"Dru and I trained them . . . you can't take them." Spike opened his eyes. "Get out of   
here," he yelled again. "What in the bloody hell are you waiting for, directions?" Why   
wouldn't she leave?  
He saw Buffy shoot a surprise look at Willow. "Wow, he sounds worried," she   
said, confused.  
"Yep, definitely worry," Willow said, nodding. "I wonder why?" She turned to   
look at Buffy. "I think we should go."  
"On second thought," Buffy said, looking at the approaching vampires with wary   
concern, "I think you're right."  
A moment later, lighting struck down from the sky, parting to strike each of the   
vampires, except Spike, the lightning didn't just flash, not just one burst of energy, but a   
continuous stream of electricity. Spike turned his head to the side, not watching as the   
vampires were burned horribly.  
Finally, the horrible light stopped, and Spike could see charred bodies, half dust,   
and half skeletons. For a split second he was terrified as he contemplated Buffy's death.   
But then she and Willow came into his line of sight. They were discussing what type of   
magic could have been used, and how powerful the sorcerer would have had to be.  
"Excuse me, ladies," Spike said, letting a sardonic note creep into his voice.   
"Could you please pull the long metal object out of my heart, please?"  
"Sure," Buffy said, put a small hand on the crowbar, then yanked it out   
mercilessly. Spike screamed, then lost consciousness.  
  
Giles took off his glasses again and looked at Buffy. "So you believe someone   
was directing that lightning, deliberately at the vampires."  
"Well, yeah," Willow said. "How else then could it only hit them and not us?"  
"Well, yes, that does stand to reason, but why did it leave Spike here alone?"   
Giles asked. "I suppose we'll have to ask him when he regains consciousness."  
Buffy stepped out of the small kitchen and over to the couch where Spike was   
resting. They had removed his shirt to bandage his wounds the best they could, and   
Buffy could see the impressive yet wiry physique and strong shoulder muscles that had   
allowed him to kill two slayers in his one hundred plus years of existence. Buffy's eyes   
drifted to Spike's face. While he slept, his features were open, guileless; his smooth skin   
and handsome figures could have been called 'innocent'. For a brief moment, Buffy   
recalled what Spike had told her about Drusilla and who he had been before he was made   
into a vampire.  
Spike had said he was a bad boy, but had written poetry to a love who had not   
returned his affections. Somehow that didn't quite track. As viscous as Spike had been,   
she assumed he had always been that way, evil even when he had been human. She   
didn't really know, but Buffy assumed Drusilla wouldn't have picked just any run of the   
mill guy to become a vampire. Buffy knew Darla had picked Angel for a reason, and   
Angel Drusilla, so it stood to reason Drusilla had continued the cycle.  
Instead of the normal disgust mixed with a paltry hatred or loathing Buffy felt for   
Spike, she actually pitied him, or at least the man who had been William . . . whoever.   
She wondered what the man had been like. She could see the amazing difference   
between Angelus and Angel, so who did Spike used to be?   
  
Spike looked around suspiciously. He knew that he was asleep or unconscious,   
which was odd, normally he could not separate the dream world from reality.  
"That's because this isn't the dream world, Spike," a woman said from directly   
behind him.  
Spike turned quickly and paused, laying eyes one of the most beautiful creatures   
he had ever seen. She didn't look quite human, but she was no demon, that he knew.   
Spike could feel the aura of power around her.  
"You sent the lightning," Spike said, for once his voice serious and not mocking.  
Her eyebrows raised and Spike could see into her beautiful, violet-gold eyes.   
"Yes, I did."  
"Why did you save me? Or was it to save the Slayer and her friend?"  
"Would I be talking to you if I meant to save the Slayer, Spike?" she asked gently.  
Spike looked down. "Suppose not. Why are you talking to me?" he asked, fixing   
his blue eyes on her otherworldly ones.  
"Because I want to make you a deal," she said. "I want to recruit you."  
"For what?" Spike asked suspiciously. This woman was good, pure and simple.   
Fighting probably for whatever side Buffy was on. "I'm a demon, remember?" he said   
leering at her. "Bad," he paused, "evil." And laughed at her.  
She shook her head, smiling at him in a way Spike didn't like. "You aren't evil   
Spike," she said, almost tauntingly. "You can't be. That chip in your head doesn't allow   
you to be. You can't hurt anyone. You're as harmless as a," she paused, "worm."  
Spike blinked. "A worm?" he asked incredulously. "A bloody worm?"  
"And you love the Slayer, or at least you think you do," she finished, her tone   
almost singsong.  
Spike felt all expression leave his face. Utterly serious he looked at her. "How   
do you know that?"  
"I know what I need to know, Spike, and I can help you get what you want."  
"How are you going to help me get the Slayer?" Spike said. "You don't even   
know her. What are you, a witch?"   
"Hardly," she responded. "She'll never love you, Spike, not a vampire without a   
soul. She'll always know you want to do evil, and deep down inside you're still evil, and   
the only reason you're being 'good' is so you have a chance with her. Do you really   
think Buffy Summers is that stupid?" She stopped completely and took a step back from   
him. "You're beneath her, remember?"  
"Shut up!" Spike yelled. Horrified, he felt tears on his face. "Shut up! What do   
you want?" The last was more like a desperate plea than an actual question.  
"I want you to make a conscious decision to fight for the Light, Spike," the   
woman replied. "If you do this I can help you create your own soul."  
"What?" Spike said, utterly confused. "Create my soul?"  
"I can give you a conscience, Spike, and after that, the good that you do to make   
up for your past wrongs will start creating a soul. Once your soul is complete you will   
become human again. Then you can have Buffy, or at least have a chance to have her."   
The woman became very serious. "It was given to me to know the hearts of the children   
of men, Spike, she will never love you as a demon."  
"And with a soul?" Spike asked, his voice barely above a torn whisper.  
"You have a chance," she said. "Let me tell you this. If you accept, you will   
want to die. With your conscience comes a gift of empathy—so you will know the pain   
of others, and the pain of those you have killed. If you preservere, you will gain your   
soul. Let me show you what it is like to know love."  
The tall lady with silvery hair and glowing eyes stared at Spike for a moment. A   
strong emotion filled him, wrapped around him. It was the essence of light and   
righteousness. He felt stronger and more confidant than any other time he had   
remembered. It vanished, leaving him feeling cold, alone, and even more miserable.  
Spike looked at her, then shook his head; he was shaking slightly. "There's no   
way I can do that—I was never strong enough," he said, thoughtfully, but with longing.  
"I will be there when you need me, Spike," the woman said with a smile. "If you   
choose this, you will become my responsibility."  
"All right," Spike said, taking a deep breath, "I'll do it. Wait! Why are you even   
offering me this?"   
"Love, even untrue love is powerful. You demonstrated some sense of that today   
when you warned the Slayer off."  
The woman stepped forward, placing her warm hands at Spike's temples and   
looking him deeply in the eyes. An electrical currant raced through him, electrifying and   
burning deep into some part of him, he felt a small space in him fill that he hadn't known   
had been empty.  
"I will see you soon," the last words reverberated through Spike's mind as the   
mist worlds faded.  
  
Buffy continued to study Spike as she fingered the stake, abruptly, he awoke,   
lurching up and staring with widened eyes at his surroundings even as he winced,   
touched the bandage on his chest. Buffy rolled her eyes at him, "Sweet dreams?" she   
asked, a touch of sarcasm entering her voice.  
Spike stared at her, as if unseeing, then shook his head. That caused him to wince   
again, and he put to hands to his temples. Buffy noticed he looked as if he had been   
burned there. Spike was trembling ever so slightly, and Buffy couldn't help but   
commiserate slightly.  
"A vamp impaled me with my own stake once," Buffy said. "It was humiliating,   
and it hurt like hell, so I guess I can give you that."  
Spike looked up at her, 'Yeah," he said, sounding serious. Spike slowly stood up,   
and Buffy could see the controlled pain in his features. He walked over to the table,   
picked up his shirt, and slowly pulled it on. A moment later he shrugged on his duster.   
Giles and Willow came into the living room, and Spike looked toward them.  
"Thanks for patching me up and un-staking me," Spike said, looking vaguely in   
the direction of Willow, Giles, and Buffy. He slipped out the door, quietly, leaving them   
all in shock.  
"Did I hear what I believe I just heard?" Giles asked, staring at the closed door.  
"Spike thanking us?" Willow said. "Because I thought I heard it, too."  
Buffy looked up. "I'm still waiting for the world to end."  



	2. Chapter 2

Title: Transmutations of a Soul (Part 2)  
  
Author's Note: Part two of the ongoing series. Spike has just been gifted with a conscious and now he has to work for the rest of his soul. A mysterious and yet unnamed creature is helping him on his quest. This happens before Angel has an 'epiphany', before Buffy's mother dies, and before Dawn finds out that she is the 'key.'  
  
Disclaimer: Simply put, they ain't mine, not the characters, not the shows, yada, yada, yada-alas, they never have been and never will be. They're that one guy's named Joss Whedon.  
  
Spike walked out of Giles' house and nearly collapsed to his knees. He   
  
let out a strangled sob and dropped on the grass outside the house, catching   
  
himself with one hand. He managed to pick himself up, and half-walked, half-  
  
staggered home.   
  
Vision after vision of gruesome death flashed through his head. The   
  
actual feeling of perverted pleasure as he thrust the railroad spike through his   
  
victims' head and thus earning his name. Spike caught himself on the side of   
  
the door to his crypt and practically fell through the entranceway. Tripping   
  
over a few broken bottles, Spike fell face-down onto the hard, cold floor of the   
  
crypt.  
  
He didn't move, didn't bother to pick himself up off the floor. He sobbed   
  
uncontrollably, all the while shocked at the difference. Before this, before   
  
this cursed gift of a conscious, he had been salivating at the draining of an   
  
unexpected human woman, silently coveting what could not be his. Now his throat   
  
burned, he was sure bile would have risen if his digestive organs actually   
  
worked. The thought of blood disgusted him; his conscious was raw, undiluted by   
  
the wearing presence of recurring sin.  
  
Spike staggered to his feet, going over to his chest where he kept several   
  
items. He angrily hurled his small television of the wall and into a pillar.   
  
The same one Riley had thrown him against and thrust the stake through his   
  
heart.   
  
He glared at it for a moment. "Bloody well should have finished the job!"   
  
he shouted, to himself or no one in particular. Maniacally digging in the   
  
chest, he cast items away, finally coming to a stake. Spike froze for a moment,   
  
staring at the stake in his raised hand. It would be so easy to thrust the   
  
stake through his heart, it would take no effort. Spike closed his eyes,   
  
gripping the wooden item with all his strength.  
  
"No," he said, his voice shaking, even in his own ears. He slammed his   
  
palms angrily against the chest again, and resumed his searching. Finally, he   
  
thought, as he pulled out what he had been searching for. Lighter fluid . . . .   
  
When Spike had first got the dammed chip in his head, he had tried to think up   
  
any type of indirect killing he could perform. Arson had been one of his more   
  
creative ventures, but that, too, had failed. The mere intent of causing harm   
  
gave him a wave of excruciating pain.  
  
Spike grabbed each one of his liquor bottles and hurled them violently   
  
against the walls in quick succession. He went into the bedroom he and Harmony   
  
had shared and squeezed most of the foul-smelling liquid over the sheets and   
  
covers. Spike threw the plastic bottle against the wall and dodged out of the   
  
crypt, lighting a single match and dropping it on the threshold of the entrance.   
  
Within moments the place was ablaze, giving rise to the vampire's intense fear   
  
of fire as well as a morbid satisfaction.  
  
"Fire is said to be cleansing," a soft, melodic voice said from behind   
  
him. Spike whirled, gazing into the shadows where the woman emerged, the woman   
  
from his dream.  
  
"You," Spike said, have in despondent anger, half in entreaty. As the   
  
woman walked forward, she fixed her eyes on the flames. Spike could see her   
  
clearly. The same woman of violet-gold eyes, and amazing silvery-white hair   
  
stood slightly to the side of him. Despite the odd coloration, Spike had no   
  
sense of great age from her, She looked as young as he, but then there was a   
  
deception there as well.  
  
Finally she turned to Spike, gazing at him. "How does it feel to truly   
  
comprehend evil?"  
  
Spike took a moment to think, shutting his eyes. A part inside him ached,   
  
as if he were aware that his soul was missing. "I know," he said very slowly,   
  
with nearly clenched teeth. "That what I have done is evil and that I need to   
  
atone." He looked at her carefully. "But I don't know where to start."  
  
"I do," she said, looking from him, then to the fire. It went completely   
  
out, leaving the two of them in darkness. A moment later she raised her hand,   
  
and her palm was shining with a glowing silver light, very bright. Oddly, the   
  
door to the crypt was closed again. She took a step forward and opened the door   
  
with the hand that did not contain the glowing light.   
  
Behind the door was darkness, but Spike followed her in guardedly. The   
  
moment he was completely past the threshold, an entirely different scene awaited   
  
him. The inside of the crypt was actually larger . . . no, this simply wasn't   
  
the crypt.  
  
"What?" Spike said, looking from the still open door and back to the dimly   
  
lighted interior of the . . . meditation room? Spike felt a breeze through a   
  
window that seemed to be on some type of cliff. Spike hurriedly went to the   
  
open window and looked out. He saw a large sea, lighted by the presence of a   
  
moon. Gazing up, he saw the bright, purplish-blue marble. It almost looked   
  
like earth, and was much larger than earth's moon. Spike spun and nearly fell   
  
down. That simple act felt odd; he took a step forward, but the movement felt   
  
unbalanced off, it took far too much effort.  
  
He finally met the woman's eyes. She touched what looked like a small   
  
onyx imbedded into the wall, and the lights came on to full strength. Spike   
  
looked around again, and found his original hypothesis had been correct; this   
  
was a meditation room. Instead of candles were odd looking oil lamps, but with   
  
some type of filter on the top of them. The wick was blackened slightly; they   
  
had been used before. A circular stone tablet of deep sapphire blue lie in the   
  
middle of the room. Spike found his gaze indescribably drawn to it. There at   
  
first seemed to be a picture, then words, but finally he could see nothing.  
  
"My name," the woman began. "Is Zalia Emèrai. I am an agent of the   
  
Spirit Guard. This place is not on your world, or mine for that matter. This   
  
is where you and I will train your mind and body."  
  
"What do you mean, train?" Spike asked suspiciously, looking around.  
  
Zalia Emèrai walked the exterior of the room. "This place is special,   
  
Spike. Your mind is granted abilities you would have on no other world. In   
  
time you will be able to do things that you would not imagine. It is merely the   
  
outwardly expression of the mental condition. Here you will learn if you   
  
possess any abilities that you may actually use in your world."  
  
Spike gave her a look as he peered at one of the oil-lamps more closely.   
  
"You mean like magic and all that?"  
  
Zalia laughed, shaking her head, and gazing at him with violet eyes devoid   
  
of any mockery. "Magic is but a pale substitute of the powers that can be   
  
harnessed. It is a feeble attempt to ascertain gifts not given." She smiled   
  
and turned; she stood in the center of the sapphire tablet. Abruptly it glowed   
  
with light; Spike jumped as light flared into existence on each of the oil   
  
lamps. He noticed that each flame was of a slightly different color, from a   
  
deep, barely visible purple, to a dimly glowing red.  
  
"Am I supposed to be able to do that?" Spike asked with some skepticism,   
  
raising his eyebrows.  
  
Zalia merely shook her head and stepped off the platform. "No, not for a   
  
while. Not without some of the parts of your soul-otherwise you can't connect.   
  
Come, I will show you something you will be able to better understand."  
  
Zalia walked through the second door into a small room covered in a   
  
thickly carpeted floor. Spike followed, trying to concentrate on the room and   
  
its significance. There were weapons along the wall, weapons Spike knew and had   
  
used, as well as several he had never seen before. He walked closer to the   
  
wall, peering intently at what looked like a long lance. One end of the wooden   
  
staff ended in a long piece of steel sharpened to a point, the other had a type   
  
of thick, coarse webbing. He took it off the wall.  
  
"Like that one, the corstavi?" Zalia asked, stepping up to him. She stood   
  
at eye level, "however, if you wish to master this, you must impress me with   
  
your other skills first."  
  
"Master this?" Spike, feeling a combination of confusion and frustration   
  
well up within him. He slammed the weapon back on the wall, not eliciting any   
  
kind of response from her whatsoever. "Why would I? How does this help me?"  
  
"You, you, you," Zalia said, a hint of carelessness in her voice, he paced   
  
around the room, her hands behind her back. "You aren't getting it, Spike, not   
  
everything's about you. I told you that you have to earn this. You have to   
  
help people. That perhaps, in some way, you will understand their plight. Your   
  
'heart' has the ability to learn, to change, and something will affect you. It   
  
will take time."  
  
"Why the hell am I doing this?" he asked her, kicking the wall fiercely.   
  
"Do you know what this feels like?" Spike slammed his fist against the wall,   
  
feeling his anger take over. "The Slayer," he hissed, feeling his anger deflate   
  
as he slid down against the wall. "That's why, bloody hell," his voice rang of   
  
defeat.  
  
"You aren't ready for this," Zalia said, fixing him with an intense, if   
  
somewhat surprised gaze. Her blue-violet eyes held a touch of sorrow. "Forgive   
  
me."  
  
A rush of wind blew past Spike, for a moment obscuring his vision. When   
  
he blinked, he sat on the ground outside the blackened crypt. He stood up,   
  
absent mindedly, and walked through the cemetery without paying the least   
  
attention to his destination. A conscience, this conscience he had was   
  
incredibly raw, more tender even that William's 'sensitive' blather about his   
  
poetry. The past knowledge burned within him, tearing apart any kind of   
  
coherence within him.   
  
He slowed to a stop out of pure habit, stopping before Buffy's house in   
  
the nighttime. With a growl of self-directed anger, he jogged away from the   
  
house. Stay away from her, he said to himself. Disgust grew within him, as his   
  
feet pounded the sidewalk in anger. There is nothing good within me, Spike   
  
realized. And for the first time in his 'life' that actually bothered him.   
  
Something caught the corner of his eye.   
  
Two vampires were in the shadows of some trees surrounding a public   
  
parking lot. For a moment, Spike was disoriented, he didn't know his location,   
  
then he recognized the newly constructed high school. Looking across the   
  
parking, Spike watched as two vampires watched Dawn and a group of her friends   
  
from their hiding places in the shadows. The two vamps came up behind the small   
  
group of giggling school girls, all were dressed for some kind of formal winter   
  
dance.  
  
Dawn finally turned toward the vamps approaching, her expression was a   
  
near classic of terror and surprise. To the girl's credit, she actually managed   
  
to grab her friends' arm and suggest that they wait inside for their rides.  
  
"No, its too hot in there," a girl responded with a laugh. "Scared to be   
  
alone in the dark?"  
  
Dawn punctuated her friend's sickeningly ironic question with an ear-  
  
shattering scream.  
  
Spike winced as he left the shadows, not thinking about what he was doing.   
  
He ran across the parking and tackled the nearest vampire to the ground. Spike   
  
punched him once and staked the vamp without delay. The vampire exploded into a   
  
cloud of dust as Spike leapt to his feet.  
  
The vamp had already bit Dawn, but Spike staked him through the back,   
  
killing him even as he drained the girl's blood. He caught Dawn as she fell,   
  
checking her pulse as he slowly lowered her to the concrete. Spike took of his   
  
duster and wadded it up, laying it under her head.   
  
"Get an ambulance," Spike suggested tersely to the girls as they stood in   
  
shock.  
  
"uh, Lauren already went," one of the girls replied as another burst into   
  
tears.  
  
"Well, one of you go to say something about blood loss and the like,"   
  
Spike said. When no one moved, he gave an exasperated wave of his hand, sending   
  
two girls scurrying away.  
  
Spike checked Dawn's pulse again, his fingers coming near the congealed   
  
blood on her neck. He was shocked to feel a painfully acute desire to lick the   
  
blood away from the helpless girls neck. A wave of revulsion directed at himself   
  
quickly followed, giving witness to the conscious he had recently been gifted-or   
  
cursed-with. He was surprised to feel something prickling at the back of his   
  
mind, faintly, but it was there.  
  
With a loud siren and flashing blue and red lights the ambulance slowed to   
  
a stop several feet in front of Spike and Dawn. Two paramedics came out of the   
  
back with a stretcher.  
  
"What happened?" one asked quickly.  
  
"I don't know," Spike answered, feigning ignorance. "I was walking along,   
  
you know, saw the guys attacking a group of girls, thought I might help them   
  
out."  
  
"Out of the goodness of you heart," the other paramedic sneered. His   
  
words had an unforeseen affect on Spike as something deep within him, not his   
  
heart or his soul, however, clenched to the point of agony.  
  
"Ignore him," the first paramedic said as they loaded Dawn into the   
  
ambulance. "he's a cynic."  
  
Spike climbed into the back of the ambulance with the paramedics. "The   
  
guys ran away, but she fainted and I saw her bleeding out the neck," he said,   
  
tapping his own neck.  
  
The elder paramedic began speaking on his radio, and Spike noticed Dawn's   
  
eyelids moving.  
  
"What?" she whispered, pausing and taking the time to swallow painfully.   
  
"what . . . happened?"  
  
Spike leaned down, speaking very quietly. "its alright, luv, two vamps   
  
tried to make a Happy Meal out of you and your pals," he paused for a moment.   
  
"Tell the Slayer to watch her back," he cautioned with true concern in his   
  
voice. "Now go to sleep, pet, I'll take care of you."  
  
Spike stayed with Dawn, watching over her until he heard the loud and   
  
angry tones of the Slayer demanding to know where her sister was. Spike smiled   
  
briefly at the familiarity, then quickly stepped out of the room.  
  
¤¤¤  
  
Dawn shouldered her backpack, glad to be in school and out of the   
  
hospital-away from her overprotective mother and sister-but at the same time   
  
glad to be away from school. Now she could leave, maybe get some peace and   
  
quiet. She quickly walked down the hall of the junior high, heading toward the   
  
door when an accented voice called her name.  
  
"Dawn, wait up!" the voice of the new psychology teacher as well as the   
  
school's new counselor. Dawn reluctantly turned around. The new teacher was   
  
cool, but Dawn wasn't in the mood to 'share'. "can I talk to you for a moment?"   
  
she asked, leaning against the doorframe with one of those welcoming smiles.   
  
Nearly dragging her feet, Dawn turned, making her way back and into the shrink's   
  
office. She slumped down into one of the overly comfortable chairs and stared   
  
at the woman across for her. "I'm not one of those people who likes to talk   
  
about their emotions, I don't really think this whole scene is for me. I don't   
  
think you can solve all my problems."  
  
The psychologist leaned back, with a grin in her eyes as well as on her   
  
lips. "So you appreciate the motto, 'you're seeing a psychologist, you should   
  
get your head checked out?'"  
  
Dawn nodded, smiling despite herself as the woman continued. "Let me let   
  
you in on a little secret, Dawn. Don't believe the media. Most of the time   
  
everything is misrepresented. I am not here to solve your problems. I am here   
  
to help you solve your problems. I am merely a supplier of knowledge. You can   
  
choose to do whatever you want with that knowledge, even if you do nothing.   
  
Think of me as a person you can learn from, like any of your other teachers."  
  
"That makes sense," Dawn replied. "When you look at it that way. So what   
  
am I to learn today?"  
  
"None knows you as well as you do, Dawn. Not even someone who is   
  
allegedly physic or telepathic. You alone have lived inside yourself for   
  
fifteen years. So, ultimately, somewhere inside you, you can find out how to   
  
help yourself. I am an observer. I have observed that you are a troubled girl,   
  
Dawn, and I would like to know why, so that I may help you."  
  
  
  
Spike collapsed into a chair at Willie's bar. "Blood," he said curtly to   
  
Willie. He felt a wave of sullen anger creep over him. This wasn't supposed to   
  
be this bloody hard! He was supposed to want to do good. He didn't-not really-  
  
all he knew was that he felt a sick, burning feeling somewhere deep inside of   
  
him that sharpened to pain whenever he considered doing wrong. This wasn't   
  
Spike-and it surely wasn't William, that spineless, pansy-ass author of   
  
excruciatingly bad poetry.  
  
On top of that was some of Zalia's teachings. What he learned now was the   
  
basics of martial arts. Spike had found that while he knew how to fight and was   
  
very good, that didn't take the place of years of discipline and training.   
  
Although he had been in existence for over one hundred years, he still   
  
didn't have the honed instincts of Zalia. She was human . . . of a sort, and   
  
defeated him with ease. Spike would bet that she could take on two Slayers and   
  
win. The focus, determine, and discipline of whatever order Zalia was in was   
  
near to fanatical. Spike didn't have to breathe and he was exhausted by her   
  
training regiment. She had curtly told him it was because he lacked character,   
  
but Spike didn't understand the correlation. Something like he didn't   
  
understand half the things that proceeded from Zalia's lips. They flew way over   
  
Spike's head-several miles probably.  
  
Spike's eye refocused as Willie set the glass of blood down in front of him. Just as Spike reached out to take the foul liquid, a large muscular arm   
  
swept it away from the table and onto the floor with a muted and congealed   
  
crash. Spike swiveled on his char, and turned in surprise and quick anger.  
  
"Bloody-" he started to say, immediately cut off by the vampire slamming   
  
him back into the bar. He pressed Spike against the bar with so much force that   
  
he began to feel his back popping under the strain.  
  
Intensely glad he didn't need to breathe, the pressure on Spike's neck   
  
only served to pain him, although he had no desire to be paralyzed again. Spike   
  
kicked the vampire swiftly in the shin, jammed his fingernail into the base of   
  
the vamp's thumb, and jerked his hand away, sliding off the bar and onto the   
  
floor in the process.  
  
"What did I ever do to you?" Spike asked angrily-he quickly noted the   
  
collection of various demons and vampires behind the lead vamp. "Whatever it   
  
was, I'm sorry."  
  
"Dusted some of my boys," the lead vampire said. "Protecting the Slayer's   
  
sister, and warned her about our plan."  
  
"Oh, that," Spike reflected uneasily. He paused. "Actually, I'm not   
  
sorry, I was under obligation."  
  
"What?" the vampire asked. "I don't care, we came to kill you-no, sorry-  
  
beat you to death, then stake you."  
  
"Isn't that redundant?" Spike asked as the vampire swung a large, ham-  
  
fisted punch at him. Spike skipped back, kicking him swiftly and pulling out a   
  
stake. He managed to dust the leader before someone hit him over the head with   
  
a barstool. Spike dropped to his knees from the force of his blow, remembering   
  
some of Zalia's basic lessons-never lose your weapon; it is the way to a swift   
  
and untimely death.  
  
Keeping a hold on the stake, he slammed it into a vampire's upper thigh,   
  
causing nothing but extreme pain and a rather large distraction. Some of the   
  
others hauled him to his feet, and Spike delivered another head butt, then   
  
grabbed the slime demon by the throat, pulling him in close and grabbing his   
  
other 'arm' securely, not an easy feat. Shoving the demon's head up, Spike   
  
pushed him back, knocking the other demons out of the way. Once he was free he   
  
push-kicked the demon back into the still-confused huddle, knocking a good   
  
portion of them down. Spike grabbed a stool, broke off one of the legato use as   
  
a club, then hurled the rest of the metal stool at the rapidly approaching   
  
demons.  
  
Spike knew he didn't have a prayer-there were simply too many of them.   
  
Perhaps Zalia would . . . . Again he, was swiftly surrounded, but not before   
  
staking third vampire and slamming the club firmly into the horn demon's face,   
  
causing a thick, green-gray liquid to ooze from the wound.  
  
The vampires grabbed him by the arms, pining them from behind. Spike   
  
kicked out repeatedly at the vamps in front of him. \What good is getting a   
  
conscience and getting recruited, only to die less than a week later?\ he asked   
  
himself angrily. \Bloody hell, Zalia,\ he thought furiously, \You got me into   
  
this.\ Immediately following that was an attack of his veracious conscience.   
  
\No, you got yourself into this.\  
  
One vampire kneed Spike in the gut, another bashed him over the head with   
  
the remnants of a stool. Yet another occupied himself with stabbing Spike with   
  
a stake in a near circular pattern around his heart. Spike heard his voice as   
  
if he were an outside observer, but felt the pain of his throat made raw by his   
  
screams. One particularly nasty demon tabbed him through the heart with a   
  
knife, then slashed him across the face. Finally, the barrage of injuries   
  
halted, and Spike lifted his head.  
  
Spike closed his eyes, surrendering, then opened them again. "Well, stake   
  
me already," Spike said through swollen lips. At that moment, Spike saw a dim   
  
glow of silver light, then the three vamps burst into flame, lighting up the   
  
room before they deteriorated into dust.  
  
Spike collapsed to the floor, crying out even as he hit the hard surface.   
  
Zalia stood in the doormat, dressed for once like someone from this world,   
  
wearing loose khakis and a short sleeved shirt-she was dressed for a fight, or a   
  
battle. In a smooth motion she pulled out a long, slightly curved sword.  
  
"Get down," she spoke calmly to Willie who had just peeked his head over   
  
the side of the bar. Obediently, he ducked back down.  
  
Some of the less intelligent demons still stood, staring at the piles of   
  
dust. Demons didn't like vampires, but they really didn't like people seemed to   
  
be able to kill them at will and with ease. They turned toward the tall woman   
  
who was already in a fighting stance.  
  
"Well?" she demanded. "Why do you delay?"  
  
Three demons charged her at once. One was swiftly decapitated, the next   
  
gutted after she side-kicked him in the ribs. Spike watched her with   
  
martialistic appreciation as he climbed to his feet. Wincing as he leaned over,   
  
Spike picked up another bar stool and hurled it at one of the demons, it crashed   
  
hard against his skull, stunning him.  
  
"Oh, crap," Spike said a loud as the demon turned back toward him; he   
  
quickly grabbed a bottled off the bar table and hurdled it at him with deadly   
  
force. Four large shards remained imbedded in the demon's forehead. It   
  
collapsed to the ground, dead.  
  
Spike moved quickly behind a demon, performing a hammer fist blow to the   
  
back of his head while shielding his right arm. When the demon moved, Spike   
  
push-kicked him, sending him into the path of Zalia's descending sword blade.   
  
Zalia killed the last demon, cutting him down directly in front of Spike. She   
  
remained standing, perfectly still for a moment, her face unreadable. Then the   
  
bodies disappeared, leaving pools of multi-colored blood behind.   
  
Spike stared at the empty space in front of him. "Did you do that?" he   
  
asked.  
  
"No," she replied, her voice containing only a hint of weariness. Then   
  
she knelt down, wiping the blade of the sword against the entrance mat. She re-  
  
sheathed her sword, then walked out the door, saying nothing to Spike.  
  
"What the-" Spike said, then ran after her, wincing as pain made him dizzy   
  
for a moment. Zalia turned and stopped, looking grieved for a moment. The   
  
harsh words instantly died on Spike's lips and he spoke more gently, but still   
  
with anger. "Where are you going?" he paused. "Scratch that. Is this how its   
  
going to be? I do something worthwhile and get nearly killed for your   
  
troubles?"  
  
"No," she replied, looking him in the eyes with a look of nearly rabid   
  
intensity. "It will be much worse."  
  
"Oh, great," Spike said, throwing up his hands, "so where were you when I   
  
was getting the crap beat out of me?"  
  
"You aren't dead," she noted, listlessly. "Well, actually, you are dead,   
  
but not truly dead. You have not yet returned to dust."  
  
"Swell," Spike said sarcastically. Then he peered more closely at her.   
  
"Are you alright?" he was prompted to ask.  
  
"No," she answered, twisting her arm over, a long shallow cut was visible,   
  
as well as some gray liquid, demon's blood, smeared near it. "oh, that explains   
  
it." Spike felt a certain nervousness as she raised her hand. A powerful light   
  
shone out, and Spike could smell the stench of burning flesh.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell, that's disgusting," Spike said. "and that's coming from   
  
me." After a moment, the light stop, and Spike could just barely make out a   
  
gentler hue as her wound closed up.  
  
"What?" Spike asked, taking a step closer, looking quickly from her wound   
  
to her face, then back again. "What was that? You can heal?"  
  
She quickly drew away from him. "Not with any expediency," she said, her voice   
  
regaining its former strength. Her violet-blue eyes poured into Spike's. "And   
  
I can't heal you-there isn't enough of 'you' there yet."  
  
Spike quickly forgot the former line of communication, "How will I know   
  
when I've reached the next step?"  
  
"You will feel it," Zalia said, with a hint of a bright smile. "We will   
  
speak more tomorrow. You wanted to show me that local hangout . . . the   
  
Bronze?"  
  
"Yes," Spike said. "Vamps and other demons sometimes look for prey   
  
there." He paused. "Plus they have the best little buffalo wings. You aren't   
  
a vegetarian, are you?"  
  
Zalia actually smiled, and shook her head, the silver-white braid shaking   
  
back and forth. "Heavens, no." She shot him a sideways look.  
  
"What?" Spike asked.  
  
"Like a child, so easily amused," Zalia said, for once a hint of teasing   
  
condensation in her voice.  
  
"A child? I've been around for over a hundred years, little girl."  
  
Zalia smirked. "Whatever, in your time I've been around for at least a thousand   
  
years."  
  
Interested, Spike turned to her, rotating his shoulder gingerly. "In our   
  
time, what about in yours?"  
  
"I am one hundred and twenty seven years old, as my people measure time.   
  
Another two hundred to go.'  
  
Spike halted, giving the woman his undivided attention. His nearly white   
  
eyebrows went up. "You're mortal?"  
  
"Of course," she replied, she gave him a quizzical stare. "Surprised?"  
  
  
Buffy and Willow walked around the corner to the entrance to Willie's. As   
  
they stepped over the threshold, a residual stench of demon blood was still   
  
present. Buffy noted that Willie was carefully rearranging bottles on the   
  
shelves as he shook his head. Buffy also noticed the dearth of customers. Even   
  
after a big fight, there would be some demons hanging here.  
  
Willie caught a look at Buffy out of the corner of his eye. "Just what I   
  
need, a Slayer. What do you want?"  
  
"What happened here?" Willow asked, ignoring Willie's mournful tone.   
  
"Must have been some fight," she said after looking around for a moment.  
  
"More like a massacre," Willie said, shaking her head. For once he seemed   
  
glad to be sharing information. "Well. It seemed that Spike killed some vamps   
  
that went after your sister, Slayer, he ticked a lot of people off."  
  
"So, that was Spike, " Willow said. She turned to Buffy, so Dawn was   
  
right.  
  
"Maybe," Buffy answered, her brow furrowed in confusion. "But why, he   
  
didn't stick around to brag about it like he normally does."  
  
"Or ask for money," Willow reflected. "You were right, this is weird."  
  
"Yeah," Willie interjected. "Anyway, he comes back here a couple days   
  
later after dusting a few vamps and the boys gang up on him. They were out for   
  
blood, or, in this case, dust, I suppose. They were really beating the crap out   
  
of him, and this chick shows up." He paused a moment, shaking his head. "Weird   
  
and beautiful. But, anyway, she'd got this huge sword and get this, torches all   
  
the vamps in the room."  
  
"Woah," Willow said, "how? Was she a witch?  
  
"Maybe, but she was more of a fighter, and she didn't say anything, just   
  
looked at them."  
  
Buffy turned to Willow. "I thought spells were necessary, how powerful   
  
does this make her?"  
  
"I don't know, but you have to have a lot of focus and power to be able to   
  
do that. Only a few can even do fire spells without saying at least, incendis,"   
  
Willow looked worried. "I hope she's not too evil."  
  
"Forget the magic for a moment," Willie said. "She could fight, too. A   
  
few minutes later her and Spike cleared the rest of the room, mostly her. They   
  
both got cut up a bit, but after she arrived, there was no contest."  
  
"How many?" Buffy asked urgently.  
  
"Just the two of them," Willie answered.  
  
"How many demons?" Buffy clarified, exasperated. "and what did she look   
  
like?"  
  
"About twenty demons to start with, after she dusted the vamps, about   
  
eleven left," he said, to the surprise of the two girls. "She was about Spike's   
  
height, maybe six feet tall. Pretty muscular, darkish complexion, but with a   
  
kind of golden hue. She wasn't human, or I don't know, maybe she was. Silvery   
  
hair, and these amazing, purplish eyes-"   
  
"That's enough," Buffy interrupted. "Before I throw up."  
  
Buffy and Willow exited Willie's bar and headed over to the Bronze where   
  
the rest of the Scoobies were hanging out. After a few moments of perplexed   
  
silence, Willow turned to Buffy. "Okay, I don't understand this. Why would   
  
Spike save Dawn's life, and why would he do it with those kind of consequences?"  
  
"I don't know," Buffy said. She stopped, then turned to Willow. "He   
  
wants something, probably, another way to be more annoying than he already is,   
  
wow, didn't think that was possible." She paused for a moment, then her eyes   
  
brightened with a thought. "How did he know Dawn was in trouble? What was he   
  
doing near the school?"  
  
"I don't know," Willow said doubtfully. "Maybe he was just walking   
  
around? Or maybe . . . "  
  
"Maybe he was following her," Buffy concluded grimly. She checked both   
  
ways, then grabbed Willow's arm, quickly dragging her across the street.  
  
"Whoa! Where are we going?" Willow asked, "the cemetery?"  
  
"Spike's crypt," Buffy answered as the two quickly walked through the   
  
darkened area. "I want some answers, and he'd better spill, too." The two   
  
quickly walked through the cemetery, Buffy's mind whirling with the   
  
possibilities. Finally the two came to the entrance to Spike's crypt, and Buffy   
  
barged in, then quickly came to a stop.  
  
"Wow, look at this place," Willow said, glancing around at the darkened   
  
walls. She coughed, "It smells like it was burned-you think Spike was in here   
  
when it happened?"  
  
"I don't know," Buffy replied, "This looks pretty old, probably a week.   
  
No, Willie said Spike and that girl came around last night."  
  
"We should go tell Xander and Anya," Willow said, gazing around with some   
  
trepidation. "Plus, this place is creepy."  
  
"No, kidding," Buffy returned, then the two slowly turned, walking away.   
  
There were no further interruptions on their walk to the Bronze beside one   
  
vampire attack. Buffy swiftly staked him, then continued, without missing a   
  
step.  
  
Finally, they walked into the entrance to the Bronze, instantly assaulted   
  
by loud music. Buffy felt her mood pick up a little, but then plummet when she   
  
realized Riley would no longer be there for her to dance with. First Angel,   
  
then Riley, Buffy let out a sigh. \Is anyone ever going to stay with me?\ she   
  
asked herself. She stopped Xander and Anya sitting over on one of the low   
  
couches and quickly crossed the room.  
  
"Hey, guys," Buffy said as she flopped down on the couch across from them.   
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing much," Xander replied. "Find out anything interesting?"  
  
"Sure," Willow put in brightly. "Spike's crypt was burned to the ground   
  
and he got the crap beat out of him last night, and this demon woman with white   
  
hair saved his life."  
  
"Really?" Anya said with interest. "Did she look like that one?" she   
  
asked, pointing across the room to a booth. Buffy turned and found herself   
  
looking at Spike and a woman matching the description that Willie had given.   
  
She looked human enough, but felt slightly off. She was probably a vampire, or   
  
maybe some other kind of demon half-breed. She and Spike were in the middle of   
  
an intense conversation, probably something Buffy could rudely interrupt. She   
  
stood up, with Xander echoing her movements a moment later.  
  
"I have a couple questions to ask them," Buffy said, nearly under her   
  
breath. The girl associated with Spike, with a vampire, that meant evil, or at   
  
least bad enough in Buffy's book. Buffy knew Spike was evil, or at least would   
  
be if he were able. Buffy didn't want one of his old pals, like Drusilla   
  
perhaps, back in Sunnydale for Buffy to deal with, and probably ultimately kill.  
  
Buffy walked up to there table to hear the last words proceeding from   
  
Spike's night. " . . . a knight, huh? I bloody well wouldn't have done it,   
  
what does that amount too, giving up your entire family?"  
  
"I'm sure this is a touching reunion," Buffy said melodramatically, "But I   
  
just have to interrupt.  
  
Spike appeared surprised as he quickly straitened, looking back over his   
  
shoulder at the Buffy. A flash of something in his eyes passed too quickly for   
  
Buffy to recognize, but she did see the long slash mark just beginning to heal.   
  
It stretched from his left temple across his face and cut into his lips.  
  
"What happened to you?" Xander asked, traditionally without tact.   
  
"What does it look like?" Spike said with traditional deliberate sarcasm.   
  
"Some demon got friendly with a knife." Almost as an afterthought, he turned to   
  
his long-haired companion and gestured to Buffy. "By the way, this is the   
  
Slayer, thought you might want to know."  
  
"And why is that?" Buffy challenged. "Who are you?" she asked the woman.   
  
"what are you? Some kind of warrior-mage of the Byzantium?" she asked   
  
factiously.   
  
The woman actually laughed out loud, then seemingly tried to control her   
  
laughter. "I am no mage."  
  
Buffy was surprised to see Spike look at her. "Huh," he commented. "That   
  
wasn't magic, none of it?"  
  
"No," the woman replied. "We don't use magic, it's forbidden."  
  
"What do you call what you did to those vamps?" Buffy asked challengingly,   
  
receiving another look from Spike.  
  
"Pyrokinesis," she replied dryly, her blue-purple eyes calm. She appeared   
  
to be studying Buffy.  
  
"It doesn't matter what you call it, I want you out of here, and out of   
  
town," Buffy said angrily, trying not to let out her pent up rage. "You too,   
  
Spike, I won't have you stalking my sister."  
  
Spike practically choked on his beverage, which, surprisingly, was not   
  
blood. "What are you talking about?" he asked in a flat voice.  
  
"Dawn, how else would you know that she was in trouble?"  
  
"They're called eyes, Slayer," he said in the same, nearly flat tone. The hint   
  
of insolence was strong behind his eyes. "We nearly all have them and I used   
  
them."  
  
"I don't care," Buffy said, grounding out each of the words. "I want you   
  
both out of here." Buffy was surprised at the amount of anger she felt growing   
  
in her. She grabbed the woman by the arm.  
  
"Buffy, what are you doing?" Dawn asked from behind her shoulder. She   
  
gazed at the woman sitting with Spike in surprise and recognition. "Ms. Emèrai,   
  
I didn't think you hung out at the Bronze."  
  
"Hello, Dawn," the woman replied to Buffy's shock. "I don't, Spike said I   
  
should know about this place though. That it was a common hangout for certain .   
  
. . types."  
  
"Demons?" Dawn chirped helpfully. "yeah, you do know that Spike's a   
  
vampire, don't you?"  
  
The woman flicked her purple eyed stare over Spike with some amusement.   
  
"I had been made aware, yes."  
  
Buffy couldn't take this on top of everything else that was going on, her   
  
mother's illness, Riley leaving-she was too stressed out. "Get out of town,   
  
both of you."  
  
Suddenly, the woman stood up, effortlessly breaking out of Buffy's hold.   
  
She looked up to the ceiling, turning slightly.  
  
"What is it?" Spike asked, training his powerful hearing upstairs.  
  
"Demons, two of them," she said, moving quickly around the table-Spike   
  
followed swiftly. Buffy trailed behind both of them as they took the stairs to   
  
the overhead balcony. Two rather human like demons had somehow incapacitated   
  
two young men, and were carrying them away. It was easy to see that they were   
  
vampires.  
  
Spike and the woman, Emèrai moved silently up behind them. Spike shoved   
  
one into the balcony, then slugged him across the jaw, making him drop his   
  
burden to the ground, he staked the vamp a second later. At the same time, the   
  
woman swiftly snapped the other vamp's neck, leaving him twitching on the   
  
ground. Spike tossed her his stake with the ease of familiarity, and she dusted   
  
him like a pro.  
  
"Oh, this is real funny, Abbot and Costello," Buffy said sarcastically.   
  
"What are you trying to prove, that demons can come back from 'the dark side'?"  
  
"I'm not a demon," the woman said flatly.  
  
"I'm sorry," Xander said from behind Buffy. He looked decidedly unimpressed.   
  
"Was that not politically correct enough for you?"  
  
Buffy watched as Spike looked swiftly at the woman who appeared to be . .   
  
. not quite angry, but disappointed.  
  
"She isn't a demon," Spike said, almost as if he was indignant for her.   
  
"not even close, Slayer. Try again."  
  
"I don't trust you, Spike," Buffy said.  
  
"What reason do I have to lie?" Spike almost shouted, throwing up his hands in   
  
exasperation.   
  
"Spike, let's get out of here," Emèrai said slowly. "This is just going   
  
to be trouble." She started down the steps, with Spike actually following her.   
  
Buffy felt confused, she had no idea what was going on, and she disliked that.   
  
"If she's one of Dawn's teachers . . . "Xander said, looking worried.   
  
"Don't you need to know what kind of demon she isn't?"  
  
Buffy smiled grimly. "I pretty much know she isn't a vamp, but she could   
  
be some kind of half breed. If we get a sample of her blood, do you think Giles   
  
could do anything with it about finding out who she is?"  
  
"Don't know it until we try it," Xander said with a note of determination   
  
in his voice.  
  
Buffy quickly followed the path Spike had left. While indiscernible to   
  
normal humans, Buffy's Slayer sense could pick up on where the vampire had been.   
  
After she exited the Bronze, she swiftly followed Spike with Xander in tow. She   
  
found him fighting with a couple of vamps, and paused, waiting to see what would   
  
happen.   
  
The vamps actually had some kind of coordination, but Spike was skillfully   
  
keeping both of them lined up and tripping over each other in their haste to get   
  
to them. Buffy watched his technique and noticed his concentration. Normally,   
  
Spike taunted the vampires or demons he was going to kill, but now, he just   
  
seemed focused. At precisely the right moment, Spike lashed out with the   
  
stake, killing one vampire. He front snap kicked the second, following it with   
  
a sliding sidekick into a tree. He stake the second as smoothly as the first.   
  
He stood there for a moment, his hands on his temples.   
  
Buffy didn't waste a moment. She instantly walked up behind him, turned   
  
him around; then slammed him into the tree. Spike cried out, but seemed to be   
  
the worse for the ware for his fight. His eyes were slightly glazed, and he   
  
looked to be in pain. Buffy didn't care-he had caused enough pain to deserve   
  
some himself.  
  
"Where did she go?" Buffy demanded.  
  
"Who . . . ?" Spike asked, sounding genuinely confused.  
  
"You know who, Spike," Xander said with his arms folded across his chest,   
  
and a level stare. "The chick you were with, silvery white hair, purple eyes,   
  
beautiful?"  
  
Now Spike was staring at the Slayer, his concentration seemed to be back,   
  
but he was still out of it. An odd emotion touched his bright blue eyes. "I'm   
  
sorry, Slayer," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.  
  
"What?" Buffy asked, annoyed.  
  
"I didn't know you felt that bad about your mother," he said, his tone   
  
completely guileless.  
  
Buffy didn't care-she hit him as hard as she could, directly in the solar   
  
plexus. Spike cried out, dropping to his knees as Buffy followed that up with a   
  
punch to his jaw. "Not funny, Spike, not even remotely," she said. She was   
  
about to hit him again when a hand latched firmly on her wrist.  
  
"Can't fight someone who can't fight back," the woman said sternly,   
  
shoving Buffy to the ground harshly. Buffy swiftly rolled, coming to her feet.  
  
"He's evil," Buffy said, "he doesn't count."  
  
The woman stared at her, as if disgusted. "It's not about him, Slayer, it's   
  
  
about you. You don't kill or beat the hell out of someone for your own sick   
  
pleasure. That's what we call perverse and sadistic. It's not about their   
  
moral standards, it's about yours."  
  
"What do you know?" Buffy asked. "You hang with vampires, what's that say   
  
about your moral standards?"  
  
"It says only that you don't understand," she responded. Her eyes took on   
  
a look of disbelief as the Slayer took out a knife. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Since you won't tell me how to fight you, I am going to find out the hard   
  
way. If you are a friend of Spike, that means you are my enemy."  
  
Then the Slayer attacked, skipping forward with a roundhouse kick, then a   
  
sliding hook kick, and a spin-sidekick. None of which landed. The woman dodged   
  
nimbly out of the way and to the side. She finally kept in the same location as   
  
the Slayer threw a swift, back leg roundhouse to her head. The woman countered   
  
with a very fast and very hard spin-sidekick to the ribs that landed solidly.   
  
Buffy flew backwards, falling into a backward roll and coming to her feet. She   
  
caught the woman's front snap-kick, but not the roundhouse that was the second   
  
of the salvo kick. That exploded firmly against the Slayer's temple, knocking   
  
her to the ground, unconscious.  
  
Zalia landed on her feet, shaking her head at the Slayer's unconscious   
  
form. The girl could have done better, but she had underestimated her opponent,   
  
a mistake as deadly as overestimating one's opponent. She turned to the girl's   
  
male friend, Xander, who was staring in shock.  
  
"Are you going to try and kill me?" Xander asked, almost calmly. It would   
  
have fooled Zalia if she hadn't been able to empathetically perceive his   
  
emotions.  
  
"Decidedly not," Zalia responded. "Like we tried to tell you, I am   
  
neither evil, nor a demon. Take her home-I didn't kick her that hard. Tell her   
  
we will be gone by the next sunset."  
  
Xander nodded, and picked up the Slayer, disappearing into the night.   
  
Spike got to his feet, staring at Zalia with new respect. "Where are we going?"   
  
he asked warily.  
  
  
"I don't believe this!" Cordelia wailed out-loud as the demon dragged her   
  
into the alleyway. "This is so not fair, I don't get a vision to save my own   
  
life? Who will be the connection to The Powers That Be, then?" She fruitlessly   
  
struggled, trying to grab the pocketknife deep inside her pocket. There! She   
  
had it. She flicked open the largest blade and stabbed it into the demon's leg,   
  
gouging downward.   
It roared in agony, a sound so loud that even the dead could hear.   
  
Cordelia stabbed him again as she saw two familiar figures round the corner as a   
  
dead run. Wesley had some kind of short sword in his hand, and Gunn had a hefty   
  
battleaxe. They both tore toward Cordelia and the demon at top speed. Cordelia   
  
didn't wait for them to arrive, she stabbed the demon twice more until he   
  
dropped her. By that time, Gunn and Wesley were on them.  
  
The two shouted in unison, Wesley lunging forward and running the demon   
  
through on the sword, and Gunn swinging down hard on the demon's neck with a   
  
sickening crunch. It fell dead to the asphalt ground.   
  
Cordelia crawled away from it on her hands, then got to her feet. "Are   
  
you all right, Cordelia?' Wesley asked instantly, ever the polite one.  
  
"Yeah, sure, fine," Cordelia said, still looking at the thing in horror.  
  
"Not a bad piece of work, English," Gunn said with a wide smile. "not   
  
bad. Will this thing stay dead if we just leave it?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, the blood should not have any toxic or corrosive effect on the   
  
surroundings. In fact, if I am correct about this particular breed, it should   
  
decompose rapidly."  
  
"How did you guys know to bring weapons with you?" Cordelia asked as they   
  
headed back out of the alleyway together.  
  
"Just comin' back from a used weapons store English found," Gunn said,   
  
almost cheerfully.  
  
"Yes," Wesley said; he held up his sword, now free of demon blood. "Can   
  
you believe the quality of this blade?"  
  
Cordelia frankly didn't care, but she smiled anyway. "Thanks for savin'   
  
my life, guys."  
  
"Anytime," Gunn said in reply, then trailed off as he saw the menagerie of   
  
demons waiting for them.  
  
"What on . . . ."Wesley began, staring at them. There were all sorts of   
  
demons, vampires, slime demons, a couple of the species they had just killed,   
  
some horned species that Cordelia had seen before, and a few she hadn't ever   
  
seen before.  
  
"How about now?" Cordelia asked. "Oh, no, we are so dead."  
  
"Um . . . ." Wesley said, staring at the fifteen demons slowly moving   
  
towards them.  
  
"Run," Gunn finished, grabbing Cordelia's arm and running back the way they   
  
came. The three hauled ass down the alleyway, coming around the edge and to a   
  
side street that was barely used. Wesley skidded to a stop, and Gunn and   
  
Cordelia nearly ran into them.  
  
In front of them was an overturned junk car, looking as if someone had   
  
burned it before. Behind the car stepped a tall, blond vampire with striking   
  
blue eyes, that Cordelia had never wanted to see again. Even Wesley looked   
  
perturbed, although he leveled his sword at the vampire.  
  
"We don't want trouble, just let us pass," Wesley said swiftly. "There is   
  
a horde of demons after us, and undoubtedly they will kill us all."  
  
"I know," Spike said, but not in the same arrogant manner as was his   
  
custom. "You killed their leader about six hours ago today, recall?"  
  
"Their leader?" Gunn asked with skepticism.  
  
"No time, if you don't wan to die," Spike said. He thrust a crossbow into   
  
Wesley's hands, then pulled out a more impressive longbow with heavy, barbed   
  
arrows. "Tag them, see if you can wound them. We'll take care of the rest."  
  
"Who's we?" Gunn asked.  
  
"Down!" Spike said sharply. Gunn and Cordelia fell behind the car as the   
  
two each put an arrow to the string.  
  
Cordelia noted that while Wesley's crossbow was much easier to aim and   
  
fire, Spike's longbow did far more damage. Cordelia watched with some surprise   
  
as he and Wesley picked off the vampires with ease. Suddenly, a scream sounded   
  
through the air, causing her and Gunn to look behind them.   
  
Some of the demons actually had brains, and had decided to ambush them   
  
from the other side. Five or six of them had sneaked up behind them, but now   
  
Cordelia winced as a vampire, shot through the arm with a fire arrow, lit up   
  
with flame, and in a few moments, exploded into dust.  
  
Gunn launched himself toward the first demon, swinging his battleaxe with   
  
some accuracy. It cracked hard against the demon's skull, stunning him as Gunn   
  
imbedded the blade into his forehead. Cordelia grabbed Wesley's sword after a   
  
moment of hesitation and followed Gunn in. She managed to stab a demon already   
  
wounded with an arrow; then, as he faltered, she brought the sword down in an   
  
arc--beheading him. A vampire grabbed her by the back of the throat, and though   
  
by no means proficient with the sword, Cordelia managed to reverse the blade,   
  
and slam it upward and into his unbeating heart. He released his hold,   
  
staggering backward. Cordelia pulled the weapon out, then swung it like a   
  
baseball bat, decapitating it smoothly.  
  
Cordelia turned to see Gunn fighting off the last demon. She stabbed it   
  
through the back and he cut its throat with the edge of the blade. They turned,   
  
almost in unison to see how Wesley and Spike were faring.  
  
The former Watcher was down, unconscious, and bleeding as far as Cordelia   
  
could see. Spike was, surprisingly, doing his best to keep the four remaining   
  
demons off Wesley. He had totally vamped out and was fighting with a fierceness   
  
that surprised her. Gunn and Cordelia rushed over to help, but stopped as the   
  
four were quickly defeated in the next minute.   
  
A figure came up behind one of the demons, running it through with a   
  
broadsword, not the puny thing Cordelia had by comparison. It dropped   
  
instantly. The new fighter, apparently the same one who had been using the fire   
  
arrows, now engaged the slime demon with the battle axe. The fighter caught the   
  
axe with a block of the sword, then the sword sliced on through it, lashing out   
  
to slice across the demon's chest. It screeched against metal armor as the   
  
fighter nimbly jumped back, avoiding the falling axe head. Spike performed a   
  
jumping front snap kick, and the crunch from the demon's broken jaw and neck   
  
resounded throughout the alley.  
  
The fighter danced backwards, coming under the light of the street lamp.   
  
Cordelia saw that she was female, with long, white hair bound back in a braid.   
  
She tossed her sword underhandedly to Spike, who caught it and sliced off the   
  
head of the demon, making in turn into some gelatinous ooze. She struck a   
  
fighting stance, then launched herself at the taller, most likely stronger   
  
demon.  
  
She aimed low, striking at the knee and shin, avoiding all types of armor.   
  
She performed a double roundhouse, spin hook kick combination that dazed him.   
  
She jumped up with the same jumping front snap-kick, then followed with a   
  
crescent kick, tornado crescent kick combination. As he fell to the side, Spike   
  
drove the sword through an opening of the armor, skewering him like a shish-ki-  
  
bob.  
  
He straitened after a moment, then turned back, dropping to his knees by   
  
Wesley. "He's out," Spike said seriously. "You'll probably need to call an   
  
ambulance."  
  
The woman knelt down next to him, placing a hand on his head and closing   
  
her eyes. "The injury isn't too bad, but yes, he will need to go to a   
  
hospital."  
  
Cordelia was instantly on her guard again. "One thing Spike, what do you   
  
want from us?"  
  
  



End file.
